


goodnight, demonslayer

by Edgebug



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreamwalking, M/M, Protective Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel draws himself into Dean's mind, Dean is dreaming of hellfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	goodnight, demonslayer

**Author's Note:**

> title from Voltaire's song of the same name.

 

 

When Castiel draws himself into Dean's mind, Dean is dreaming of hellfire.

Castiel sees him bound to a table and there is a... conjure, an illusion in the shape of a human standing next to him. It is holding a knife which bites into Dean's skin. The conjure's voice is the hiss of a snake and a familiar, nasal whine. “ _It'ssss sso good to ssee you, Dean. I've misssed you sssso much._ ”

Dean's fear is bright. He cannot truly feel pain, not while dreaming. But he can fear, and he can re-live his memories of pain and torture and hell, which is nearly as bad. Castiel growls, knife manifesting and sliding from his sleeve. He grips the hilt tightly and lunges for the conjure, thrusts the blade into its chest.

It is difficult to fight nightmares as they are occurring, while they are shaped into forms. It's all about the perception of the one dreaming—you cannot stop a nightmare outright without waking the dreamer. You must change it instead; you must appear to destroy the conjure or change the circumstances. It's that which interrupts the subconscious' plans. A train cannot be derailed without jarring its passengers, but it can turn onto a different track.

The conjure dissolves into smoke—not smoke like a demon pouring from someone's throat, but a black, angry mist, thin at first before it coalesces into something almost opaque, two glowing red eyes appearing at its core. “Be gone,” Castiel hisses and spreads his fingers, allowing light and grace to shine blue through his palm, and the mist disappears like fog melting away in the sun.

Castiel turns to Dean, who is still gasping and panting, eyes wild with terror. The fear threatens to infect Castiel, it tints his own thoughts red. “C-Cas?” Dean manages after a moment, panic still strong in his mind.

Castiel reaches out and touches two fingers to Dean's forehead.

He alters the dream.

Dean is healed instantly, all his wounds and every memory of pain gone. Castiel creates the Impala, creates a night sky and woods and bright stars and Dean is instantly on top of the hood, resting. The red haze quickly dissipates. Cas settles down on the hood next to Dean. “Cas?” he asks, looking over to him.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You... killed Alastair.”

“Yes, Dean.”

The sky begins to brighten above them, and Castiel knows that Dean is about to wake. He cannot allow that. It is still only four in the morning, in the “real world.” He exerts some of his Grace to keep Dean's body asleep, even if his mind is beginning to stir. “Cas, are you really here?”

“Yes, Dean. I suppose you have discovered that you are dreaming.”

Dean laughs quietly, looks up. “Yeah. Got that one worked out. But... don't you wake up, when you figure out you're dreaming? I mean. I've done that before, a few times.”

“Normally.” Castiel looks up as well, at the stars above, Orion and Sirius not even visible among the bounty of stars. “However...” He trails off. There is black mist filtering out from the trees. He holds out his palm, it glows faintly. “I said be _gone.”_

The mist dissipates. “What the hell was that?” Dean asks, eyes widening.

“It is not of import. And yes, normally one would wake up, but I am using my abilities to keep you asleep. It would be pointless to allow you to wake only moments after I fought away your nightmares.”

“Fought away...” Dean's forehead furrows for a moment before his eyebrows fly nearly to his hairline. “Is that what those black things were? Nightmares?” His voice is incredulous and the sky brightens even through Castiel's efforts. “Am I being haunted or something? Are nightmares monsters, Cas?”

Castiel exerts more of his grace, reaches out and lays his hand over the top of Dean's. “Be calm. Please, be calm. It is harder to keep you asleep when you struggle against me.” Dean nods, takes a deep breath and the sky darkens once more. Castiel gives a faint smile. “Good, Dean. Good. And no, they are not monsters, they are nothing you can hunt. They are merely thoughts that you are unequipped to control, whilst asleep.”

“So you're in here,” Dean taps his forehead, “controlling them.”

Castiel is sometimes not very good at reading emotions, but he is sure that he can hear uncertainty in Dean's voice. He draws his hand away from Dean's. “I can leave, if you wish. This is the first time I have attempted this. I could learn to do it invisibly, you should not be able to sense me--”

“No.” Dean's reaction is instant. “I don't mind.” Dean's hand reaches out to lay over Castiel's. “Thanks.”

Castiel looks down at their hands, smiles faintly. “It is no burden.” Across the grass slowly creeps another black mass, as if a piece of the shadow from the trees has gained life and is drawing closer. “Be gone,” Castiel murmurs, and it dissolves into the ground.

“You gonna be doing this all night?”

“It is no burden.”

“No, Cas, it is. You're—you've got other stuff to worry about, Cas, and here you are, helpin' me sleep. It is a burden, it is of import!”

“You are the most important thing I have to be concerned with, Dean.”

Dean looks at him with wide eyes that shine green in the starlight, too bright to be real. “Cas...”

“It's not as if you have asked me to be here. I only wish to offer you rest without fear. You deserve that much.”

Three different shadows creep closer, combine and grow into something larger. The red haze returns. “Hellhounds,” Dean says, hollowly. “Not—they're not real but—oh God, can you hear them?” He shivers, knees drawing up to his chest.

Castiel stands, strides towards the shadows that rise up. He cannot hear the growling that Dean obviously can, but he can see the fear, the thoughts themselves. They are thickening, growing, three-dimensional shadows with claws that extend and eyes that glow. It ignores Castiel entirely and tries to slide past him towards Dean. “Be gone,” Castiel snarls again, blade manifesting.

He feels resistance when he thrusts it into this nightmare's body. Instantly the glow leaves and the shadow dissipates into nothing once more.

The nightmare makes a sound as it dies, a low, angry sound that reverberates across the planes of Dean's mind. “You just killed a hellhou... a nightmare,” Dean mumbles, and Castiel turns around to see him.

“For now.” Castiel returns to his side, settles upon the hood of the Impala once more. The black mist has disappeared, for the most part; some of it still clings, but only to the trees in the distance, and never do they make a move upon Dean. The sky is still dark, stars arranged prettily above in patterns that do not exist.

Dean is calm. Castiel can sense his heartbeat, his breathing. It's quiet, steady. “Where are you right now, Cas, in the real world? In the land of the living?”

“I have placed my vessel next to yours. I hope you do not mind sharing a bed.”

“Nah, it's okay.” Dean smiles faintly and leans back against the windshield, staring up at the sky. “In fact, I, uh, kinda like that idea.” He blinks, head tilting slightly as he looks at Cas. “Wait,” he mumbles, “I don't have a vessel.”

Castiel sweeps the clearing with a gaze. The nightmares are all still hiding away, not moving at all. He lowers himself to lean back against the windshield as well. “What do you think your body is, Dean?”

“It's me,” Dean quickly replies as if he doesn't have to think about it.

Castiel shakes his head and gives a faint smile, just a twitch of his lips. “A vessel is a container, Dean. It can contain soul or Grace. Both, sometimes. You are not your vessel. If you were, then Heaven would not exist, could not exist. If it were, then you would cease to be as soon as your body became nonfunctional.” It seems perfectly logical to him. “You are just entwined more deeply with your vessel, as you were born into it, and are the sole inhabitant.”

Dean gives a faint laugh and shakes his head. “So when I went to Heaven, why did I still look like me?”

“You are unable to witness your own true form,” he said. “You have not seen it, so you may not conceptualize it. You simply create these forms in their place. It is easier for you.”

Dean actually laughed, eyes turning upward again. “You mean that I'm the size of the Chrysler building, too?”

“No,” Castiel replies, a wry smile curving his lips. “This may be emasculating, Dean, but you would fit inside a briefcase.”

Dean just laughs harder, louder. From their hiding places in the trees, the nightmares shrink back. “So are you integrated into your body, too? Or are you, I dunno, wearing a bodysuit or something?” Dean asks once he catches his breath. “Does that even make sense?”

“I am the sole owner of this vessel, now,” Castiel says. “Jimmy has moved on. He was reaped when I was killed. His Heaven is very beautiful,” he adds.

Dean nods. “Oh.” He turns, resting on his side to look at Castiel more easily. “Do you see my true form?”

“In Hell, I saw it,” Castiel says, after a moment. “Not now. This is your dream, I see things through your perception.”

“I bet I had the hottest soul you've ever seen,” Dean chuckles, but it is hollow.

“Even in Hell, your soul was beautiful,” Castiel says, “I can only imagine what it looks like now, strong and whole...”

Dean blinks for a second, then smiles faintly and looks down. “How long till I wake up?”

“That is your choice.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

The car is warming beneath Castiel's body. It's a nice feeling. “Four and a half hours.”

“Wow. I'm sleeping in today.” He sits up for a second and the sky lightens, the sun alighting the clouds. “I guess I should...” He trails off before he sighs loudly and relaxes back against the car, this time closer to Castiel, resting next to him. “You know what, screw it. I can sleep a little longer, right? Just one more half hour?”

“I think that's acceptable, Dean.” His voice has a note of laughter in it, somewhere.

“And, uh, Cas?” He rolls onto his side, props himself up on his elbow to face Castiel.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks.”

Before Castiel can acknowledge his words, Dean's already leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Castiel's lips. Castiel doesn't have a chance to respond before Dean pulls back. “It's my dream, right? I can do what I want,” he says, already defensive.

“Yes," Castiel instantly replies, a smile curving his lips faintly, involuntarily. "You can do whatever you wish." Dean's grin is blinding. The sky darkens to pitch black as he leans in once more.


End file.
